Testo Incidental III

We looked toward the woman
And my face burned red, blushing
When she asked me the questions
Are you ever alone?
Are you younger or older?
I held her close
In my thoughts some way wanting
In spite of the sorrow My tensing in terror
On the strip of Ventura
With the tin barrels burning under a halo of moonlight
When the hour was lonely
It was the way that she touched me
Her arm on the window
And the way she said baby
And the way she said baby